Suyë
by Tinuneth
Summary: Maglor is wandering, predictably, until he meets a small, mute mortal child with no memory and no family. When he realizes that he will have to care for her, he gives her a name. Suyë; Living, for she reminds him so of those who are dead. P.S. I'm bad at summaries, but at least give this story a try. Set in 1800s-ish era. Rated T because I'm paranoid. NOW ON INDEFINITE HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first serious story yet. Please tell me if it's terrible, since I don't know how to properly write fiction, and that's just a shame. The name Suyë is a Quenya translation of my own name, but the O/C is** **NOT** **me in any version. I'm sorry if the O/C's appearance seems cliché considering the story's setting, but it is an important element of the story. Just one request: tell me if this should be continued or not POLITELY. Thanks for flying on Tinuneth Airlines, and have a great day!**

 **P.S. I'm still not sure if this will be a one-shot or a longer story, but I'm not sure how good this will be, or if I will ever finish it, so it will likely be very short. Plus, Maglor angst hurts my heart. But one must cross the river to reach the other bank.**

 **P.P.S. This story will be very bittersweet.**

Maglor was wandering along the shore, remembering his past. The faces of his brothers, twisted with fear and pain, his mother with tears in her eyes, his father as he spoke his last words. He remembered the Kinslayings; the despair in the faces of those he had once called friends, the terror of those he had so mercilessly slain in Doriath, the desperation with which those at Sirion had fought. To think that he had not turned back after Alqualondë! He would ever rue the day he had sworn the terrible Oath, as he had for ten thousand years! Tears swam in his gray eyes as he looked across the sea. How wide it seemed when he thought of the unreachable treasure beyond it. Home. The tears spilled over as he gazed across the steely waves. But he deserved no such mercy, no reprieve from his misery. Not even the release brought by death.

He drew his gaze away from the waters with much effort, and began to sing Mozart's _Requiem._

 _Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux_ _perpetua luceat eis, te decet  
hymnus, Deus in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem; exaudi  
orationem meam, ad te omnis caro veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison._

Maglor bitterly remembered when he could yet play his harp. He looked down at his mangled hand in disgust, wishing that the Silmarils had never been wrought. Better to live together in darkness and grief for a time than… this. _Finwe is dead. Feanor is dead. Maedhros and Caranthir and Celegorm and Curufin and Amrod and Amras are dead,_ he thought despairingly. _But Mother yet lives,_ a tiny voice of hope cried. He silenced it. He could not think of Nerdanel when he would not see her again in this life. Guilt expanded in his chest like a lead balloon. Some sick part of him wished that she had followed her sons and husband, even at the cost of her life. But gone were the days when he watched her in awe as she worked. He would never again sit upon his battered red stool and play his harp in Laurelin's light. He would never sing of joy or life again. He had not thought of life since he had been maddened by grief at the loss of the Silmarils and his beloved Daerada.

His dark thought was shattered by a light, childish giggle. He wondered if it was a figment of imagination, a memory from his childhood. But no. He heard the sound, filled with such joy, again. He pivoted on his heel, scanning the shore for life. He found it. A small child, no older than three, sat upon an oar lodged between two rocks. Her curling, copper-colored hair was whipped around her freckled face like flames. The sight reminded him of a time, many years ago… _No._ He focused on the small child once more. She was alone, save for Maglor. The girl wore a crinkled white sundress, and was playing with an abalone shell, laughing at her distorted reflection in its gleaming surface. His heart ached when he thought of his days of such innocence. He scanned the area for a family. When he saw no others, he searched for a boat or car to no avail. The oar she sat upon was new-looking, and was the color was not at all bleached on the top. It could not have been lodged there long. Indeed, it shifted under the child's weight as she sat. His curiosity was piqued. _Should I approach her?_ Maglor thought, _or do I wait for a family to find her?_ He reached out with his mind for life, but there was only the girl's presence.

Maglor approached her slowly, making his way haphazardly across the gravelly, narrow shore to the rocks. Halfway across the small beach, he tripped over a bit of twisted driftwood, cursing rather loudly in Quenya. The girl saw him at last and giggled. Her eyes were alit with mirth and the simple joy of living that for Maglor was only a memory, but she did not speak. She sat up straighter on her oar as he made his way towards her across the rocks. When he reached, he sat on one of the flatter rocks that held the oar in place. He glanced it again, and his suspicions about the time it had spent in that place were confirmed. It was still damp with seawater. The girl had salt dried onto her skin and hair, and her dress dripped at the hem.

"Where is your family, _henig_?" The child shrugged. "What is your name?" She simply shrugged her shoulders once more. "Then I shall call you Suyë." _Living._


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! Sorry about how short the first one is. I am hoping to continue this story, and improve my writing. I know there's a plot hole: Why was she laughing? Well….. that's for later. If I discontinue the story, I'll explain the plot. Pleasepleasepleaseplease review my writing. I need advice! Ideas are appreciated. Maybe you'll figure out the setting this time. Also, I'm kind of busy and out of ideas right now. Hopefully I'll find my muse again. It's been a while since the last update, as I've been away from my computer for the past few days. If you're wondering about the lack of angst, Maglor is thinking more about the unnamed girl than his own self-pity.**

"Is your home close by?" Maglor asked, watching the child intently. she nodded and pointed again, this time to the rough, grey cliff above the rocky beach.

"Do you want to go home?" She nodded again. He was asking such simple and repetitive questions that she might understand him. He then realized something odd: the girl was not mute, as was evident when she laughed, but she had not said a word. She could obviously understand speech, so she had likely been taught her words. There was no explanation for her silence.

He stood up carefully, so as not to trip, and searched with his elven eyes for a way up the cliff. He found one in a rugged flight of stairs carved into the side of the cliff, worn by the might of time and water. They were not so much stairs as they were a series of ledges. He recognized this place. It was one of his many places of reflection, where he sat and thought of his life without tears. It helped his mind to stay fit, but the memories of his past brought him sorrow. To be sure of it, he wandered across the gravelly shore to the first step. Sure enough, he saw the tiny star of Feanor carved into the step's side. It was all but worn away after the six hundred years since his last visit. He considered stopping, but he could see the child following with the oar dragging behind her like a tail. She rushed past him suddenly, nearly knocking his legs out from under him with the oar. She leapt onto the step, barely clearing it. Maglor held the oar up behind her as she hopped up the crumbling stairs.

When he reached the top, he set down the end of the oar behind the little girl. Maglor scanned the grass for a house. At the edge of the high cliff, some distance away, there was a white-plastered lighthouse. The child dragged the oar a bit faster as she ran toward it. He looked around it for any signs of other Atani. Perhaps he could leave her with one of their families. The island, however, appeared to be as empty as it had been in 1113 A.D., except for the lighthouse.

* * *

The lighthouse appeared, as the odd pair neared it, to be surrounded by a veritable forest of fruit trees, bushes, and large boulders. A few chickens pecked at a rotten apple in their yard, and a billy goat bleated some yards away from the top of a boulder. It indeed looked like the girl's home, and a fine home it was. There was a key under the cairn of rocks by the front step, which the girl handed to Maglor. He struggled to turn the rusty thing in the lock, and resolved to make a new one. He had little idea how to go about that, as he had not wrought metal of any sort since the fall of Rome. He had enjoyed Rome, as it was ahead of its time, much like the great cities of the Noldor.

Inside, the lighthouse's rounded walls were lined with sea treasures, driftwood, old oars, and lanterns carefully lined with stone behind them. Seaglass in jars hung from the ceiling among garlands of dried cooking herbs and onions. The floor was lovingly crafted driftwood, as were the spiraling stairs to the upper floor. It was quite homely, much like... no. He couldn't think of that now. He needed to care for the girl, not mope around the house like an old drunk, full of his misery and shame.

Maglor found two empty hooks on the wall and used them to hold the oar horizontally. Assuming that the girl had not eaten since she had made her way to the rocky beach below the cliffs, he then headed to the kitchen. There was no food on the counter, so he peered into drawers and shelves until he found the pantry. Inside, there were three large jars of fruit preserves, two three-foot-tall sacks of flour, boxes of tea, various jars of fruits and vegetables, and a small bag of sugar. Not much of a meal during the harvest season. Leaving the child playing with some strings by the dying fire in the hearth, he ducked out of the low doorframe and into the yard. The gardens were rich with beans and apples, apricots and blackberries, carrots and beets, and late sour cherries. A small field of barley ripened under grey skies and drizzling rain. Chickens pecked and goats bleated. Maglor first made his way to the garden, and plucked the late green beans from the vine. They looked a bit late for picking, but they were food. he was rather used to eating whatever came his way after years of wandering. Thinking of that, he was still covered in salt, and he smelled like a fish market. He had visited plenty of those in his travels.

* * *

When he at last returned to the living area, the fire had died and the girl was asleep. He suddenly realized that he didn't know her name. he silently berated himself for forgetting to ask when she was awake.

Maglor crept up the spiraling staircase to the next floor. There were two bedrooms, one small and decorated with a few toys and a small bed, and the other larger and filled with bookshelves. He pulled a few books from the shelf closest to him. The shelves had been carved to perfectly fit the round walls. The father of the child must have been a skilled carpenter. The staircase continued to an attic room with a window to the sea. It was small, and held a desk and chair, a lamp, and more books, pens, and papers. This must have been the study. He rushed back down the steps, which creaked under his weight. When he reached the main floor, he gently lifted the child and carried her to her bed.

He then realized that despite gathering various fruits and vegetables and eggs, he had forgotten dinner. He silently munched on an apple in the rocking chair by the fire and read books on gardening and agriculture until the early hours before dawn.


End file.
